


Collier

by radstickers



Series: Sauvetage [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, D/s tones, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, collaring, some of the lightest bdsm you've ever seen in your life, warning: off screen mentions of sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 13:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16096577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radstickers/pseuds/radstickers
Summary: “...I know I’m...I don’t know,” Lena stumbles, biting on her lip and gazing into her tea cup. “I want...something I shouldn’t.”The hand slides to the back of her neck, and Amélie stays silent. Lena realizes she’s choosing not to indulge in any of Lena’s fears, but instead to do as she was asked - to listen.“You’ll think me moronic,” Lena finally confesses with a broken smile. “I...I want to be collared.”





	Collier

**Author's Note:**

> hello it has been an entire year and writing has been really hard for me but I managed to finish this. as with everything in this series, this fic sits on a backdrop of past trauma, sexual abuse, and rape but does not mention these explicitly. The fics are all about healing and recovery.
> 
> That being said, this is smut. Enjoy.

The thought wouldn’t leave her. 

How odd, considering her experience. Or perhaps not odd at all. Maybe it was all she would  _ ever _ be, a slave by nature after having spent ten years under such bondage. And perhaps...one small year freed from such horrible treatment...wasn’t enough. Maybe she was broken.

Lena smiles bitterly despite herself, sliding her hands gently down Amélie’s stallion, feeling his chin press gently into her back as she brushes softly along his chest. One of the many small tasks she had taken upon herself in the chateau. He was after all, the stallion Amélie had set her upon to save her from death in the woods just to the west. In the months since, she’s developed quite a love for him. 

And he for her.

But the thought badgers her, as she rests a hand on the leather halter over his muzzle. The bruises had long since left her, shy of a year, since her heavy collar had been mercifully taken from her throat. 

So...why is it that she...misses it?

It’s not  _ that _ collar she misses. That collar choked her,  _ bruised _ her. It was there to make running difficult, to weigh her down and make her  _ ache.  _ It’s not this she misses. 

But…

Her fingers drag softly over the well oiled leather halter over the stallion’s face. It’s left no marks on him, loose enough to be comfortable and tight enough that he wouldn’t slip loose from it.

Still. She’s not an animal. It seems ridiculous to want, after all she’s been through.

The thought, however, does not leave her.

* * *

Amélie is in her study. Lena can see that hunched back, the lit candles, smell the scent of ink and parchment. It is not out of fear that she normally leaves the countess be during such times, just...respect. 

_ Love. _

Oh and she looks tired, the tense hold of those shoulders giving away mental exhaustion.

They had grown blissfully intimate in the past year, their relationship moving out of mistress/slave and to something less...defined. Far more equal. Friends? Perhaps someone might call them lovers.

Lena heads out of the study and down to the kitchens, to make them both some tea. 

“...Ame,” she calls softly, from the doorframe of the countess’s study. Tired dark eyes lift to hers, those brows crashing in and full lips parting when she sees the tray, the two cups, cream, sugar, and the kettle…

“Lena,” she whispers softly, with a tone of  _ gratitude _ that shoots all the way down Lena’s spine. 

“You’ve been in here for hours,” Lena offers softly, setting the tray down on a nearby side table. 

The countess releases a low sigh, standing slowly with a stretch and stepping over to go about pouring the tea. Lena watches Amélie take one of the cups, the one with a rose on it, pouring the cream and sugar and then the tea overtop. Her heart does a little flip when the countess hands it to her.

No matter how old the ritual, it still never fails to make Lena feel  _ loved. _

“Yes, well. I’ve been behind,” Amélie says, pouring her own cup to hold in long, delicate fingers. “Ever since court last week. I just haven’t been able to get through my stack,” she says, gesturing towards the parchment piled high. 

Lena takes a long sip of her tea, eyes fluttering closed in bliss. She might have brewed it...but Amélie’s attention with the cream and sugar...it makes it all the more  _ precious. _

“There’s land disputes, treasury requests. Reports to the court.” The countess sighs half dramatically and Lena bites her lip to hide a smile. 

“What I wouldn’t give to toss the whole stack in the fireplace.”

Lena watches the countess bring the cup to her lips, those eyes fluttering closed.

“Ah. Somehow always perfect.”

Amélie steps over to the chaise to sink into it, offering a spot for Lena to join her. And Lena goes, her cheeks darkening from such gentle words. Even if it’s what Amélie always says upon first sip.

The fantasy weaves itself slowly, as Lena sinks down on the chaise beside her. She would trust this woman to collar her, she thinks. Those fingers would be so gentle, would ensure adequate room to breathe…

But…

But.

Would she understand such a request? The woman that had spent so long just coaxing Lena to speak her name?

For months after she had come to live with the countess, Lena had desperately struggled to feel like she had a place. She could, technically, be considered a bedwarmer, but in her experience, that was a far more vulgar, far more  _ violating _ role. And much less... _ literal. _

She was, by all means, a bedwarmer - Amélie often commented on just how  _ nice _ it was, in the grips of winter, to feel a body against her own, to curl upon to fight back the chill. 

And when Lena had been so frail, Amélie had avoided giving her many tasks. A few, when Lena would beg for such things, but with feet torn from running and a body desperately weak from years of mistreatment...there was little she could do.

But she did adjust. It took time, but she did. Her body recovered and, maybe to Lena’s surprise, her spirit recovered as well. Being a slave...it seems like a distant nightmare.

So why is it, curled beside her beloved countess as they sip their evening tea, that Lena cannot help but think of those gentle hands wrapping a strip of leather about her throat? 

“If…”

Lena stalls out after opening her mouth. The countess takes another lazy sip of tea, listening, but not  _ pressing. _

_ Ever gentle. _

“If I had a request of you...would you listen?”

This catches the woman’s attention, and her head turns - mouth finding the crown of Lena’s. 

“Of course,  _ chérie.” _

“And...would you...promise not to laugh?”

Something pained crosses the woman’s eyes when Lena says that, a hand lifting to stroke along Lena’s jaw. 

“...I know I’m...I don’t know,” Lena stumbles, biting on her lip and gazing into her tea cup. “I want...something I shouldn’t.”

The hand slides to the back of her neck, and Amélie stays silent. Lena realizes she’s choosing not to indulge in any of Lena’s fears, but instead to do as she was asked - to  _ listen. _

“You’ll think me moronic,” Lena finally confesses with a broken smile. “I...I want to be collared.”

Lena can see those brows move in - further explanation is required.

“N-not like...permanently. Nothing...nothing like that. Oh, I don’t know, I just...I guess...lately I’ve been thinking it could be...intimate.”

Suddenly those lips part, and those dark eyes soften. Those fingers softly push back Lena’s bangs from her eyes before they slide down her neck. And oh...the softness of her fingers padding along her pulse. Her fingers may not be as smooth as other nobles, but it feels like  _ silk _ and Lena’s eyes close around a shuddering sigh.

“...I could have one made,” Amélie whispers. “...if you’re serious, of course.”

Her voice is dark and reverent, low and  _ careful. _ And Lena realizes that the draw she feels to the idea of a collar has caught like sparks on tinder in the countess. That she finds the idea deeply compelling.

While it’s everything Lena could have hoped for, she feels a sudden stab of guilt. She doesn’t want Amélie to spend anything on her.

“I-I don’t need anything too special. I-I just…”

She trails off, and Amélie lifts her chin.

“Perhaps...though...in order for it to feel right...it  _ should _ be special.”

The brief stab of guilt fades when that hand gently grasps her chin. The thumb sweeps across her jaw and Lena feels warm pooling in her lower stomach. She swallows at the offer, the gentleness in it, and maybe most of all, the way Amélie seems to  _ want _ it as well.

“I would not put simply  _ anything _ around your neck,” she utters huskily.

Lena sets her cup for fear she’d drop it, lips parting as she gazes up into those dark, glossy eyes. Her throat goes dry at the thought, Amélie not just allowing such a thing but  _ desiring _ it. Her heart thumps nervously against her ribs.

But all at once the countess’s expression changes, the hungry expression that had just begun to form vanishing, almost as though she realizes what she’s  _ saying. _

“This is...of course,” the countess whispers, her gaze fixing down upon her own now empty cup, fingers playing idly with the handle, “that you want me to involve myself at all. If this isn’t something that you’d like to put on and take off on your own, in privacy…” 

Lena tilts her head back to meet those eyes.

“No...I...I wanted it to be with you,” she whispers, and those dark eyes  _ darken _ with such a warm desire that Lena feels it climbing up her spine.

* * *

Days passed to weeks, and Lena figured the ever busy countess had gotten caught up again in her work. It was, after all, a silly request, a rather frivolous one - one that Lena’s not sure she really  _ should _ want in the first place. 

A fortnight after her request Lena sits upon the bed, wearing the soft linen shirt she loves so much. As the Chateau comes into the warmer part of spring, wrapping up in Amélie’s cloak is a bit too much. Besides, she likes feeling the countess’s bare legs brush upon her own. 

It’s late, but she’s not tired - the full moon is always like that. But with how much work the countess has to do, she likes to be in bed by nine. And since one night that Amélie had confessed how difficult it was to sleep without her...Lena finds there’s no where she’d rather be than in her bed with her. 

So when the countess comes in, wearing her favorite nightgown, one that lets her legs free and is gathered in the middle with a small cincher, Lena’s breath leaves her. 

But not just for the woman’s appearance.

There’s a cherry wood box in her hands, something she sets down next to Lena expectantly. 

The collar. She knows it’s the collar. 

Trembling fingers slowly push the lid back.

It’s made of silk, something that surprises Lena. The silk is sewn carefully and made to be durable, doubled over a core that Lena guesses is leather. The silk itself is decorative, made of embroidered roses and held in place with a brass buckle. It’s clean and  _ beautiful, _ and to her fingers smooth and  _ gentle. _

The countess sinks down beside Lena on the bed.

“I...It’s so beautiful,” Lena manages, tears in her eyes as she looks up at the countess. She lifts it from the box, to set the box gently on the bedside table and let it lay across her bare thighs. On bare skin it feels like a  _ dream. _

The countess leans over, to press her lips into Lena’s temple. Her eyes flutter wide at the contact before going half lidded, teeth worrying into her lip. 

“...do you want it on, Lena?”

She nods. Eagerly. 

But somewhere between the soft jingle of the metal buckle to feeling the strip of cloth wrap around her throat do the memories come. 

_ They grabbed her by that iron collar, dragging her like an ill behaved bitch into the barn. It hurt so  _ **_badly,_ ** _ and she cried for them to stop. They didn’t listen. It was part of her punishment, after all. She clawed at it weakly before her hands were bound, before they threw her to the ground and kicked her onto her back… _

“W-wait--” she suddenly gasps, eyes wide with  _ terror.  _ Her hands fly to her neck, absently trying to claw it off before she catches herself. 

Amélie moves quickly to pull it away. And tears spring to Lena’s eyes. 

She can’t do it. And with how beautiful a collar, she’s wasted her countess’s time and money. 

“I-I’m so sorry,” she whispers, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. “I...I thought I wanted it but when you put it on me all I can think about is  _ that _ collar and…”

She’s worked well into a panic. And it’s becoming difficult to breathe.

“I-I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, I never should have asked for such a thing!”

“Lena…”

“I’m so sorry, I wasted your time, your money - I didn’t...I don’t know why I--”

“Lena.  _ Respirer un grand coup, chérie. Tout va bien...” _

Two hands cup both sides of her jaw and Lena finds breathing just a little easier. That head bows and those lips press softly into her forehead. 

When she recovers, however, she notices something in those dark eyes. Something soft…

“Come,” she whispers softly. “Let’s sit by the fire.”

The fireplace, just outside the bedchambers, had become such a soothing place for both Amélie and Lena. And Lena would never forget being brought there after her rescue, only half alive, to be treated to tea and  _ gentleness. _ Like Amélie’s cloak, it was one of those things that would never cease to bring her peace. 

Amélie stokes the fire back into life, then kneels down beside Lena on the fur rug.

Lena calms. The fear and fight leaves her. But she still feels guilty, reaching over to touch the collar that Amélie had brought with them. 

It feels so soft. So much unlike that heavy iron collar that still left scars on her throat. So why should she have such a reaction?

“...I...I  _ am _ sorry, though...I just...I want it, but I...I don’t know if...if I can--”

“...then put it on me.”

Perhaps, later, Lena would look back on that first statement and realize that Amélie had said it in  _ haste.  _ Perhaps in her own  _ nervousness. _

In the moment, however, Lena can only turn to look at her, to see the way that jaw lifts.

“...if it frightens you,” the countess tries, “...then perhaps...to see it on another…”

Amélie sets the collar in her lap and Lena inhales at the thought. She didn’t know, of course, that Amélie had already worn this collar, had tried it on to ensure softness, the proper fit. That nothing would cause discomfort. 

She comes out of her distress to think about it. 

Amélie’s skin is so  _ pale, _ the dark silk would look... _ incredible. _

Lena takes the collar in her fingers, to feel the softness, the care that went into making it.

Something drops in her stomach when she moves to stand, and Amélie remains on her knees. 

The reversal in power had never...really intrigued her. Maybe in her darker moments when she’d imagine taking a whip to one of her awful master’s back, but she knew from experience the smell of blood would make her sick. So too just to see any part of her mistreatment happen at her own hands, to be a party to such human suffering - even if that human was a wickedly cruel master.

But this isn’t like that. Amélie isn’t offering herself in that way. In many ways, it’s a completely  _ new _ thought: someone who, in technical terms was her  _ mistress,  _ yielding power and control to Lena. 

Those dark eyes are bright with focus and desire and  _ curiosity  _ as Lena stands to the side, still holding the collar. But she sees other signs now too, the slightly  _ heavy _ swallow of a pale, flawless neck, the way Amélie blinks a few times, and the way those eyes fall periodically.

_ Submissively. _

The fear fades off of Lena entirely.

She reaches down, in a moment of bravery, to slide her fingers across Amélie’s jaw. Her heart nearly stops when those eyes flutter closed, when that cheek presses to her palm. 

It’s  _ absurdly _ erotic. Lena had no clue until this very moment.

Confidence bubbles slowly. Until this day, Amélie had been her guide, her  _ leader. _ Calmly bringing her from a cowed, terrified slave into a loved companion. But now…

Lena sets the collar across Amélie’s thigh, pressing her lips softly to Amélie’s cheek as her hands move to smooth through long dark locks of hair. Amélie releases a small moan at the touch, and Lena lets her nails scratch the back of that neck, just as had been done for her….

_ God in heaven. _

The moan is enough to end her, the thought that Amélie isn’t just allowing Lena to put the collar on her as a show that it won’t  _ hurt  _ her but is, by all appearances, actively  _ desiring  _ it. 

Down on her knees Lena can see the way the linen parts around those thighs, how  _ far _ up the slits go. She can make out the beautiful swell of Amélie’s breast from beneath the soft linen, aware,  _ painfully _ so, that they are unbound...free, beneath that cloth.

Amélie keeps her head down as Lena moves to rest the silk to that throat - her jaw angled to the side for easier access, but everything about the countess’s demeanor begs  _ submission _ as her hands fold softly between her thighs, the way that throat rises in a swallow against her fingers. 

She lingers there, taking a moment to feel that pulse, the breath pulled just beneath her fingers. She could cut it off, if she wanted. 

Of course she does  _ not -  _ her desire would never be to cause her beloved pain of any sort. But the fact that she  _ could -  _ the full, unreserved trust that Amélie offers...it makes her nearly dizzy with desire.

Her fingers slide the pull through the buckle, carefully fastening the collar about that neck.

And then she pulls back, to look.

Long dark hair falls in silk ribbons over those pale shoulders, beautiful dark eyes slowly peering up at Lena with a gently  _ smoldering _ gaze. Those lips open only slightly, the hint of teeth just beyond. She does not say a word, but that expression...burning focus and  _ desire, _ so  _ much _ desire…

_ What can I do for you? _

Lena steps forward, her hand sliding back to the collar. Amélie’s head turns, those red lips brushing her palm and Lena feels a rush of heat down to her sex.

“...I would be yours,” Amélie whispers, when Lena experiments with running her fingers through through dark strands of silk. Her voice is so low, so rough with desire that Lena feels another wave of warmth flood her.

“...I would  _ gladly _ be yours…”

There’s sadness in that tone,  _ loneliness. _ Lena knows Amélie is good,  _ terribly _ good at hiding her emotions, that for her life and continued political status in the court she has learned to mask her feelings well. She can be cold and calculating and in some instances  _ brutal. _

But here, on her knees in front of the fire, as vulnerable as Lena once was freshly rescued from certain death from the elements...collared and submissive, the Countess of Annecy confesses herself.

“...I have thought of it,” come those words, the desire in them crushed a bit by the weight of vulnerability. “...for so long I did, and I hated myself for it. You deserve freedom from your masters’ desires, and yet here I was, not  _ hours _ after bringing you home, desiring your companionship above all else…”

Lena feels her heart catch. Since her rescue she had her doubts that Amélie cared for her so much as was  _ indulging _ her. But to hear those words spoken now, unprompted and almost  _ desperate… _ Lena  _ knows _ now. She can nearly taste how heavy those words are with love.

“...I swore I’d never breathe a word of it. If by some chance you chose me to love…”

That head bows, hair falling in soft strands over those eyes.

“...But Lena…” she whispers, her voice small and low, “...I would be yours…”

She leans forward to her hands and knees and Lena feels her heart  _ burst. _

Tears form in her eyes as she kneels, brushing the hair from Amélie’s face. Her small hands come up to cup those cheeks, to gaze into eyes with tears mirroring her own…

Amélie gazes back, that normally piercing gaze soft and liquid. Lena’s fingers brush over those lips, feeling - for the first time in her life - in  _ complete _ control.

For the past few months she felt guarded and safe. She felt free to make her own choices and comforted by the fact that Amélie responded to every one of her choices with nothing less than encouragement.

But she had never had perfect  _ control. _ Not like this. 

_ Never _ like this.

In fact, Lena can’t imagine many people have  _ ever _ experienced this - a powerful noble on her knees, not just for sexual pleasure, but as a demonstration and confession of  _ love. _

A yielding of power to someone who, months ago, was not worth to her masters the food it took to keep her alive. 

It is, in this moment, as Lena’s eyes flick from Amélie’s down to those full lips, when her thumb lifts to slide across that bottom lip in anticipation of a kiss, that Lena realizes that the countess is every bit as much  _ hers _ as Lena has been since the day she was selected in that line up.

The Countess LaCroix offers herself this way, and Lena cannot help but wonder if it was her plan - or rather, unspoken  _ desire  _ \- all along. No waste at all then, that the collar had frightened Lena - perhaps all along it had been for  _ Amélie... _

Lena presses her lips to the countess’s, her lashes fluttering closed as Amélie whimpers into her mouth. Her hand lifts to that cheek, then back - to feel the silk marking that throat as  _ hers. _

_ Hers… _

_ Mine. _

Lena deepens the kiss, feeling Amélie’s lips part in reply, in  _ submission -  _ letting Lena in and letting her take what she wishes. And Lena takes it.

She takes it like she’s dying of thirst, she takes it because never once has she felt so desired, so needed, so  _ powerful. _ She takes it because, as she rises to her knees and Amélie sinks beneath her, she knows Amélie desperately wants it as well. 

Gentle hands rest on Lena’s thighs as she rises, Amélie looking up as they break the kiss. Deep brown eyes gaze up into her own, dark and glossy, full, kiss stung lips parting. A whimper escapes that collared throat, long lashes fluttering as Lena drags her thumb across those lips.

“I would be yours, Lena,” she repeats softly, turning her head to kiss into her palm. “In any way you’d have me. You cannot imagine my joy that you haven’t left me, despite my repeated offers to let you go...and you cannot imagine my joy to share my bed with you every night…”

Lena straddles Amélie’s thighs, slowly settling into her lap.

“I’ve wanted you,” she whispers one final time, those ruby lips still parted, but now silent. 

Lena bows, turning her head slightly to taste those lips again.

“...I wanted you too…”

From the moment she had come into Amélie’s possession, she had wanted to prove she was grateful. Her experience was limited mainly to men by requirement, but she was sure she could make her mistress feel pleasure.

She was refused every time she offered. Any time she offered anything  _ like _ it - any time she offered to bathe Amélie, any time she offered to rub tired muscles. 

She wondered if it was because she was a woman, at first. That being touched by another woman was just as filthy as those before told her it was.

Yet if that were true, Amélie wouldn’t have cared to share her bed…

No. The further into recovery Lena went, the more she came to understand Amélie’s refusal. There would be no denying a  _ mistress. _

A slave did as bid - and most slaves learned very  _ quickly _ to pretend as though they liked it. And knowing this, it was clear Amélie distrusted Lena’s desires were her own.

Even after the word “mistress” had left her vocabulary for nothing but the most casual nickname for Amélie, it still took a while for her to properly  _ cuddle _ Lena. A long while before Amélie believed Lena when she said she wanted it.

In truth Lena  _ craved  _ it. And after breaking down crying - after explaining the emptiness of wanting to be held but thinking Amélie found her disgusting - she felt peace that night, spooned and held the way she had been when first rescued from the forest.

They stayed this way. Lena knows they both find peace in this.

But Lena has wanted more. She’s wanted  _ Amélie. _

And now...she can  _ have _ her.

Fingers reach gingerly for the straps on those shoulders, to push it off and feel Amélie’s silk skin beneath. Her own pulse quickens as she pushes it down to where it bunches at the small cincher at her waist…

It isn’t as though she hasn’t seen them before, during moments of changing or bathing, but when Amélie’s breasts come into view, exposed to the warm light of the fire and the dancing shadows, Lena’s mouth goes dry.

Long strands of Amélie’s loose hair fall down in front of them, playing in the low light and contrasting with alabaster skin and dark rose nipples. 

Lena catches one of these soft strand of dark hair in her fingers, lifting it off one of those full breasts and letting it falls between index and middle. Her gut twists with excitement when Amélie lifts her chest up - a motion very subtle but very  _ desperate -  _ craving silently Lena’s touch in such a small yet  _ naked _ way…

Lena stands slowly and Amélie presses her forehead to Lena’s thigh, a hand resting softly on the back of her leg and creeping up. The linen shirt doesn’t do much for her modesty when someone is so near to her thighs, and the thought alone only excites Lena further.

Lena brushes Amélie’s hair aside and the woman stills, those long lashes blinking slowly as he throat is bared - and as Lena reaches down to loosen the cincher.

“Strip…” comes her first command, spoken with a voice rough with arousal.

Amélie moves, but not before pressing her mouth softly against the curve of her thigh - towards the inside. Lips brush her skin and Lena gasps her surprise before that warm presence fades, Amélie scooting back onto her knees and unfastening the remaining strap on the cincher. 

The linen falls from her frame, past her torso and down further. Glossy dark eyes peer up into Lena’s own as she settles upon her knees, palms on slightly spread thighs. Chest up.

Submissive.

Yet  _ so _ willing.

In later days she would look back on Amélie’s example of submission to use it to inspire her own, but all rational thought leaves her at the appearance, instead focused on the thought of this woman, this countess, powerless and submissive to Lena’s whim...

That hair spills upon one shoulder, still off her neck where Lena pushed it off, falling like a curtain over pale skin. The red roses in the collar catch the glowing firelight, glinting off the brass buckle. Lena wonders about long brass earrings, imagining them dangling against the collar and feels herself inhale sharply.

Working her way back into the present, Lena reaches for the hem of her sleeping shirt, pulling it up and over her head. Slowly does she kneel, pressing her own knees between Amélie’s and watching with pure elation when the countess obediently widens her stance. 

She moves out of curiosity, sliding a hand along her inner thigh and then up further - sweeping past soft dark curls to feel heat and wetness at once. A gasp and a low whimper escape those ruby lips, Lena feeling her own rush of arousal when Amélie’s hands stay perfectly still upon her thighs. Willing and submissive. 

Her fingers part those folds, sampling Amélie’s heat and feeling herself grow dizzy with how eager this woman  _ is _ for her. For years she thought that her best hope would be that she would be tolerated her perverse love for women. Never once did she think someone - particularly someone she had feelings for - would let her  _ embrace _ such feelings.

_ “Lena…!” _ Amélie hisses under her breath, along with a soft french curse. Yet those hands remain still, a self imposed restraint that both women revel in. 

Lena presses her lips to Amélie’s ear, feeling, for the moment,  _ bold. _

“You’ve thought of this before,” she half hisses, amber eyes focused as she feels Amélie gasp for breath.

“Y-yes--”

“How long?”

“M-ahh…!” She pants hard, dragging in a pathetic whimper as that head hangs low. “M-months,  _ ma chérie,  _ I-I do not know how long--”

“You do.”

Lena surprises herself with the sternness in her tone, and it surprises the woman beneath her as well. 

“P-please, I never meant to--”

“How long?”

There’s a silence, punctuated by tortured pleasure. Amélie is broken to her will now, and Lena feels it in the way that chest lifts with half sobs, some from pleasure, some from the weight she’s been carrying for so long. 

All from passion for Lena.

“...I-I...early on…” she manages, as Lena pulls her hand away. “N-not like this...not like this, exactly. O-of you on your back...of tasting you. Of making you know pleasure…”

There’s a small sniffle, one Lena soothes as she presses her palm to that hip, to rub softly along Amélie’s lower stomach. 

“...I found it despicable, that I had such thoughts. I fought them, Lena, I swear this...but even since that night - the night you tried to bed me, I couldn’t shake it. I-I couldn’t shake the thought of you coming to my bed willingly for such things…”

Her head presses to Lena’s chest, a hand resting submissively on Lena’s thigh.

“Hadn’t you suffered enough? Not to be lusted after by another owner?”

Lena remembers the night well. She had...misunderstood.

She had recovered physically for the most part - a week saw her back on her feet, but shy of a month, which saw the last of her wounds close up. There, still in the shakiest moment of recovery, she knew something was up, the way those eyes had spotted her, the way Lena had felt her chest flutter at the attention.

She had thought she imagined it...thought in her desperate need for attention and love she had imagined her mistress glancing at her in want and desire.

At the time however, she moved to serve, carefully appearing before Amélie and letting her small linen nightshirt fall in a pile at her feet. 

_ How may I serve you? _ she had asked, only to be met with horror, with tears flooding those dark eyes. With that cloak she had clung to for so long wrapped back around her, a firm shake of that head, a desperate whisper in her ear.

_ “I do not expect this of you,”  _ she had whispered.  _ “I would never take it…” _

_ “B-but I’m offering it - you--” _

_ “No...no, I cannot. I can’t. I would never…” _

Thinking it rejection, Lena had always been rather surprised when offered the affections she had. But now...now with a naked Amélie, collared and on her knees, Lena suddenly... _ finally _ ...understands.

“And...you’ve...thought of such things…”

“More than you know…” comes that answer, from below a bowed head.

Lena presses her mouth to that ear, to softly suck on her lobe. She relishes the sharp inhale, the desperation just beneath the surface.

“Tell me what you’ve thought of…”

She shakes her head - delicate not to hit Lena’s nose in the process.

“Why not…?”

“You’ll find me...lecherous…”

“I thought of you too, you know,” Lena whispers. She lifts that chin, encouraging those eyes to gaze at her. “I...the moments of privacy in the baths...I…”

Lena smiles. A bit sadly.

“A-after you...after you pushed me away, I thought it would only ever be fantasy. So I indulged there...thought of servicing you. I imagined feeling your mouth on my scars. On my breasts. On  _ me…”  _

She swallows hard.

“...a-and lately of course...o-of being collared…”

Lena plays with Amélie’s hair gently, pushing it off of her neck to look at that collar, to stroke her fingers across the silk and admire how it looks on Amélie’s throat…

That head bows, submissive.

_ “...d’accord... _ I...I would imagine having you to myself on my bed. Of tasting you. Of feeling your skin...even so soon after your rescue...maybe even that next morning. You had been taken before, I knew that...and I knew it wasn’t right…”

Tears pool in those eyes, Lena’s only hint of them when they fall to Amélie’s thighs.

“...I thought it would fade, I swore to myself it would fade. I gave you so many opportunities to leave, Lena, I didn’t ever want you to be trapped again…”

Those hands fall between her thighs - folded. Submissive.

“...but damn me if I didn’t want you, Lena...I wanted you to feel love, love enough to take away your suffering.”

Lena feels a rush of love and arousal hit her at once, feeling her heartbeat quicken. Since she’s come into Amélie LaCroix’s possession she’s been  _ desired. _ Not just her body...but her spirit. Enough that her savior would sit in tortured silence to ensure her feelings would be returned without pressure.

Lena moves to stand, feeling her heart twist at how small the Countess LaCroix looks down at her feet, with those eyes half lidded, hair falling in a curtain over them...hands folded submissively between slightly spread thighs. Bare and vulnerable.

Lena steps forward. Carefully…

Amélie looks up as she comes near, as Lena moves to stand straddling those thighs and gazing into those eyes…

“Then pleasure me,” Lena manages around a dry throat, nervous until she sees the way those eyes light up, the  _ hopefulness, _ the desire,  _ the hunger... _

Those ruby lips part and Lena fights herself to stay in control.

One of those hands lift, and Lena finds her voice once more. Low and dominant.

“No...just your mouth.”

Amélie’s answer is a moan, and obedience. With hands resting submissively atop perfect thighs, Amélie leans in, sliding her tongue over Lena’s slit and lapping softly at her clit.

She moves with precision, with practice - Lena’s fantasies, she finds, were a woeful underestimate. That mouth moves, head turning and Lena’s legs parting further so her countess can properly reaching. Soft silk hair brushes against the inside of Lena’s thighs and she has to fight herself not to climax then and there.

Lena’s breathing turns harsh and labored. She bites down on her lip when that tongue laves lovingly down along her folds, teasing by flicking inside of her.

“...a-ah!”

That mouth finds her clit, lips wrapping smoothly and holding on. Lena’s eyes roll back and she nearly loses her balance.

_“Désolé,_ Miss,” comes that sultry voice, one hand lifting to rest against the back of Lena’s thigh. A violation of a command, only so that Lena does not _collapse._

She’s worked, slowly and  _ thoroughly, _ that mouth working her inside and out. And it isn’t long at all before Lena cries out, when that hand pulls her by the rear in  _ very _ close and Amélie tastes Lena’s climax.

She’s caught, before collapse, those hands so gentle and expert ensuring that Lena does not fall in the peak of her pleasure. 

Amélie presses several soft kisses to Lena’s thighs as she calms down, still recovering from the newfound surge of life and love she feels after discovering her beloved’s feelings for her.

_...I belong... _

All the nameless bonds, while meaningful, had made her feel adrift. But now...now, she feels in place. Loved.  _ A mate… _

Lena slowly comes to her knees.

“...Lie down.”

Amélie obeys, lying chest down on the soft fur rug. 

She clutches a small squat jar, the one she wanted to use on Amélie months ago. The one Amélie rubbed her down with to soften the skin on her back, to make her wounds tolerable. It is this herbal balm she brings to Amélie, to liberally coat her hand and start on that neck, just below her collar.

“....I understand why you refused me,” Lena whispers, bending down to say it in that ear. “...I know why you didn’t let me do this before…”

There, with that body spread before her, she can see the same scars left on Amélie - the old whip-marks left over from her own trauma..

“...you want  _ me… _ not just my body…”

She coats each one, despite that they’ve long healed over. Still, she dabs each one as she remembers Amélie doing for her, smoothing her thumb over each one before pressing her lips there as well…

The warm, lithe body beneath moves at the touch, lifting and shifting towards Lena’s lips, eager for her affections to be answered after months of denial.

“...I never wanted you to think I desired pleasure of you,” comes that voice, muffled and soft from beneath that curtain of silk hair. “...you would have tried - you  _ did  _ try - to perform that...it broke my heart...”

Lena lays down slowly atop her beloved, snaking an arm around her to rest between her breasts - over her heart. Amélie takes that hand in reply, holding it there and stroking her wrist.

“...I want you to have me like this,” that voice whispers. “...your own control, your own desire. Full knowledge that if it is too much, I will stop…”

Amélie turns beneath her, to gaze up into those soft brown eyes. Something in Lena’s stomach turns to  _ mush. _

“...that my concern and love will always be for  _ you -  _ that I just...want you to be happy.”

Tears flood those eyes as she speaks, and Lena reaches with tears in her own to gently thumb them away.

“I...I  _ am _ happy, Amélie…”

She draws back, sliding a hand along the countess’s torso. Those pale wrists lift, resting on either sides of her head, on level with that beautiful collar. 

Lena bows, pressing her lips to Amélie’s, groaning when that mouth answers that kiss so  _ willingly. _ Lena strokes that cheek with the backs of her fingers before cupping it, smoothing her thumb softly across the skin…

Amélie writhes softly, groaning weakly into the kiss. And Lena can’t help but feel another heady  _ wave _ of arousal at the thought and as those breasts press against her own, Lena knows she’s  _ needy. _

She pulls back, surveying her lover, looking over that bare body.

Lena bows, sampling those breasts first. She knows it’s only making matters worse, as her lips close around already hardened nipples, but she  _ enjoys _ it. 

“Patience,” she purrs when Amélie almost  _ sobs,  _ letting her hand slide down that frame...

Shyly, Lena lets her fingers slip past dark curls at her groin and lower still.

Gods - the Countess LaCroix is  _ wet. _ The moment her fingers slide along that slit the woman beneath her cries, hips arching  _ desperately _ and yet - she still remains on the floor. 

_ “Je t'en prie…” _ she sobs, as Lena takes her time gently massaging her clit, letting her fingers work lower. So easily, does her body accept Lena inside - no resistance and all slickness and heat as Lena’s fingers curl gently inside her, causing that body to arc and a cry as sweet as honey to lift to the ceiling.

Not for the first time that night, Lena feels  _ powerful. _

Her free hand slides softly along Amélie’s hip, smoothing up along her torso as she bows over that chest, nibbling now on those breasts.

_ Marking them as her own… _

“Lena…” comes that desperate voice, filled with pleasure and longing and -  _ love. _

It’s then that Lena cannot refuse her, the small grin that had been tugging at her lips fading for a gentle smile. She kisses down that body, one between her breasts and then further - a line down that torso, down into her navel, and then further - parting those folds with her fingers before kissing her clit and then those wet folds…

Lena settles between those legs, sliding her fingers back inside and closing her lips over Amélie’s clit.

Those cries reach a fever pitch, nearly a  _ scream _ and a sob and a prayer all at once - a mantra of  _ Lena...Lena! Lena!  _ over and over again as Lena starts her rhythm.

She sucks gently, groaning herself at the taste, her fingers pumping in rhythm with her mouth. She pulls her fingers down just  _ slightly, _ enough to make her comtesse feel  _ full. _

Amber eyes peer gently over Amélie’s mound to gaze into those eyes, watching that head crane up - those beautiful, gentle eyes piercing her own. Full ruby red lips part around a frantic pant, those brows lifted in overpowering pleasure - and with a few pulsing sucks, that head tips backwards around a frantic cry, Amélie’s body writhing and twisting.

Amélie starts to relax, her body stilling on the rug below. Lena bows over her, kissing her again, finding the taste of herself on that mouth and more than happy to share Amélie’s taste with her as well…

“I love you,” she whispers breathlessly.

_ “Je t’aime aussi,” _ comes that gentle answer.

* * *

They spend a few moments curled against one another in front of the fire.

Lena reaches softly for the collar about Amélie’s throat, inhaling softly when the woman gathers her hair to make the process easier. 

Both Amélie and Lena find discomfort in remaining unclothed for too long - and so after a rather delicate session of cleaning one another up in the bath, they reclothe.

Amélie sits on the bed as Lena walks back in from stoking the fire, cradling the collar and the small cherry wood box in her hands.

Gently does she lay the collar inside the box, closing it and looking up at Amélie.

“...thank you,” she whispers, still holding it in her lap. “...for this…”

She doesn’t know how to put it in words other than that - for giving her such an expensive gift. For wearing it when Lena could not. For offering herself in a way Lena could not have  _ imagined… _

Amélie gathers that smaller form into her arms and Lena groans softly, setting the box onto the bedside table and curling into those arms.

 


End file.
